Collision Course
by Larabee's Lady
Summary: When Chris is severely injured in an accident, will his loyalty to Vin cost him his life? This is part of the ATF AU (thanks Mog) and is rated for language.


**Comments: **This ATF AU story was inspired by a real news story.

**Collision Course  
**by Kathy B.

Chris entered the dark bar with his usual lanky stride. He squinted through the smoky haze till his tearing eyes lit on what–or rather, who–he was looking for.

The tracker was slumped in a booth by himself in a shadowy corner. Chris slid into the seat across from Vin.

"Hey, buddy," he said gently. "Wanna go home now now?"

Vin looked at him for a moment, then turned his attention back to his drink. "Howdja find me?"

"Wasn't easy; this is pretty far out. And there's a hell of a lotta bars between here and home. Lucky that motorcycle o' yours is just short of an eyesore. C'mon, I'll take ya home. It's gonna storm soon and you shouldn't be driving that thing."

Vin blinked at him blearily, then muttered something Chris couldn't make out. He was at least relieved to see Vin moving clumsily to get out of the seat. He bent to take Vin's arm-partly to help lift him out of the booth and partly to take the nearly-empty whisky bottle out of his grasp-but the sharpshooter twisted away sharply as he staggered to his feet. Chris let his hands drop to his sides and followed him out to the parking lot. He watched while Vin climbed clumsily into the passenger seat, then closed the passenger door.

The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and far off, lightening flashed in the night sky. Chris glanced up at the clouds and hoped he could get Vin home before the storm hit them.

With the help of two last bar patrons and the bartender, he managed to get Vin's motorcycle unceremoniously loaded into the back of the Ram and strapped tightly down. He thanked the three men, slid behind the wheel, and pulled out of the lot. Rain began to pelt the windshield in thick, heavy drops. As he maneuvered the Ram down the winding roads, he finally broke the silence.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Ain't nothin' to talk about."

"I just figured maybe you needed to talk about somethin'." Chris squinted through the darkness down the mountain road as he headed into Purgatorio. Coming back this way toward home was gonna be a bitch.

They drove along in silence for a long time, Chris glancing at Vin occasionally. Vin was scowling as he gazed out the window. Chris strained to hear the flat, slurred tone as he pulled up to Vin's apartment.

"He's dead."

"Who is?"

Vin sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "Frankie."

"That kid in rehab? I thought he was doin' pretty well?"

Vin nodded. "He was. 'Least I _thought_ he was. Suicide..." He seemed to sober slightly and he straightened a little in his seat, his voice fading in and out. "Damnit, I was hopin'...hold on until Christmas...doin' so well in rehab. Talked about finishin' high school...Somethin' musta happened...Damn!" Then he fell silent again.

By now the rain was coming down hard and the wind pulled and tugged at the men's clothes as Chris helped Vin out of the Ram. The rain completely drenched the two men as he took the keys from Vin's fumbling hand and opened the door, following him inside. He fetched a towel from the bathroom and held it out.

"When?"

Vin didn't seem to be aware that his own clothes were soaked. He issued something that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a groan as he dropped onto the sofa. "Mornin'."

Chris tossed the towel to Vin, who didn't move. "While we were out on that bust?"

"Yeah," Vin snapped. "While I 'se protectin' some informant who don't matter, I was losin' someone who does!" He became instantly contrite. "I-I'm sorry f' snappin' at ya, Chris. 'S'not your fault. Don' go...Gonna be bad up where you are...roads're bad..."

"Look, Vin, I'm not going to say it again about having to make choices in this job–"

"–Then DON'T. 'Cause I don't wanna hear it right now!"

Chris shrugged, looking at him. There was little he could offer in the way of solace. "Vin... you know how it is!"

Vin surged to his feet in an impotent fury. "I know! I wasn't there when someone needed me! But you'd know all about THAT, wouldn't you! Well, I'm _sorry_ but I can't seem to switch off my feelin's at will like you can!"

Drunk as he was, Vin instantly wished he could take the words back. If he had pulled his gun and shot him, he couldn't have hurt Chris more deeply than this.

"Chris," he said quietly, struggling around a too-thick tongue. "I..."

Chris's lips were tightly pressed together in a white line as his whole body went rigid. Without a word, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

"Chris, wait!" He stumbled after him, but his feet were ignoring commands from his brain. "Damn it, Lar'bee, come back! Chris! Please! 'Leas' wait till the storm–the storm..." His voice faded as he stood in the doorway, watching Chris leave. His anger flared up again. "Fine! You wanna kill yourself, that's just fine with me!"

He spun on his heel and slammed door behind him.

_Damn you, Larabee_, he thought, as he heard the Ram pull away.

He walked unsteadily into the bedroom, and shucked his wet shirt, pants, and underwear carelessly onto the floor. With a tired sigh, he settled between the crisp sheets, pulled off his socks and began to drift off.

* * *

The rain was coming down in sheets now, making it all but impossible to see. Unconsciously, Chris's hands tightened on the wheel and he leaned forward in his seat, trying to discern the painted lines on the road.

Damn that Tanner! He shouldn't have left. He should've kept in mind that Vin was drunk and not let it get to him. But he had. At the very least, he should've stayed in town till the storm passed, or at least until daylight. Maneuvering along the unlit mountain roads was all but impossible now. He slowed the Ram down some more and glanced at his watch. With luck he'd be home soon.

He turned a corner as a pair of headlights veered into his lane. Chris swore and wrenched the wheel, but the vehicle didn't immediately respond on the slick road. He felt the impact of metal on metal just as blinding light exploded in his head and a tide of pain surged through his body. And then everything went dark.

* * *

The soft groan grew gradually louder until Vin was awake enough to realize it was he who was making the sound. His mouth felt full of cotton and his head hurt, apparently because it was suddenly too big for his body.

He was naked in his bed. That in itself might not have been unusual except that he didn't remember going to bed. He remembered being in a bar. And he remembered Frankie, one of the youth group kids Vin had really hoped would make it through rehab. Instead Frankie had committed suicide. What hurt Vin more than anything was that he was on a bust when the call came. Probably the last call Frankie had ever made.

And then there was Chris. He had the feeling he'd said or done something he shouldn't have, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. He gave a mental shrug, figuring he'd try to smooth things over with Chris once he got into the office.

He sighed sadly, wishing it had all been a bad dream. He scowled and cursed softly as the jangle of the phone arrowed through his brain. His arm swept across the top of the nightstand, sending the phone crashing to the floor and effectively stopping the ringing. He finally drifted back into blissful unconsciousness. It seemed as if he'd only been asleep a few minutes when he heard a pounding at the door.

"G' 'way!" Vin groaned in frustration, rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head trying to stifle the pounding in his cotton-filled head. The knocking stopped, and then he heard someone come in.

"Vin, get dressed," said Buck tersely as he entered the bedroom. "There's been an accident. It's Chris."

Vin sat up, suddenly very awake. He felt a sudden pressure of cold dread in his chest.

Buck's eye fell on the phone laying on the floor. "Been tryin' t' reach you."

"How bad?"

"Don't know yet. Bad. The others have already gone to the hospital." He tossed Vin his jeans. "I'll wait for ya outside. Hurry it up."

Vin quickly pulled on his jeans and a sweatshirt. God, what had happened?

* * *

Vin hated hospitals. Hated the smell, hated the sounds, hated every aspect of it. The rest of the team was assembled around the waiting room. Four pairs of eyes looked up as Vin followed Buck into the room.

"Anything?" asked Buck.

Ezra shook his head. He looked tired, Vin thought. They all did. Geezus, how long had they been there?

"What happened?" demanded Vin.

"Car accident," said JD shortly.

Josiah came up behind him. "It's worse than that," he said quietly. "The other driver's dead."

"Chris is gonna be all right, isn't he?"

"We don't know," said Ezra flatly. "Nathan's in there now, talking to the doctor."

"When...?"

"Early this morning, a couple of hours before dawn, maybe."

Vin tried to concentrate. When had Chris dropped him off? It seemed like it had been earlier than that.

Nathan entered the room. Vin tried to read his expression but Nathan just looked as tired as the rest. Maybe more so.

"He's still comatose. Got a broken leg. Tibia. Just below his left knee." Nathan took a deep breath before continuing. "Doc ain't sure just how bad Chris's head injuries are yet. Could be pretty severe."

"How 'severe,'" asked JD.

"Dunno yet."

"Brain damage," said Ezra tonelessly.

Nathan looked at him with an expression that said that was exactly what he was trying _not_ to say. "Nobody knows until Chris wakes up." "IF he wakes up," Ezra muttered, his eyes directed at the floor.

Nathan shot him a look but said nothing.

Vin felt his knees give out and sat down abruptly in an empty chair behind him. What the hell...? He put his head in his hands, staring unseeingly at the tile patterns on the floor. "Does anyone know what happened?"

Josiah shook his head. "Only two witnesses: Chris and the other driver. And the other driver'll never tell. She was dead at the scene."

Nathan was studying Vin.

"You feelin' all right?"

"What?" Nathan's words barely seemed to register with the sharpshooter. "Oh...No...Yes. I don't know, Nathan. I don't..." His voice faded away as he looked down the hall to where Chris had been taken. God, this was a nightmare. It had to be. Some godawful nightmare caused by his hangover.

Josiah looked at the tired faces around him that mirrored his own. "There's nothing more we can do here for now. Why don't you all go home and get some sleep?"

The others slowly got to their feet. Nathan stood and turned to him. "What about you?"

Josiah nodded. "Maybe when I finish my–"

"–meditatin'?" Nathan finished for him, an look of understanding in his deep brown eyes.

"Yeah...Now go on."

"I ain't leavin'," said Vin in a tone that indicated the discussion was closed. He had to be there when Chris awakened. He just had to know what happened and how bad Chris was hurt.

* * *

Over the next few days, they waited. The Team drifted in and out at all kinds of hours, all sharing the same need to be there, just in case. In case of what, they were afraid to consider.

Vin and Buck had been there the most. To both of them, it seemed like the only place they _could_ be. On this particular afternoon, Nathan insisted Vin accompany him to the cafeteria to eat but, once there, the sharpshooter mostly picked at his food, looking at it with disinterest.

Nathan eyed him with concern. "Ya gotta eat sometime, you know. Ain't gonna do Chris no good starvin' yourself."

Vin didn't look at him. "Hell, it's been days, Nathan. I just keep thinkin'-hopin'...he's gonna wake up any moment. He's gotta..." He shoved the tray away. "I can't stand this waitin' is all."

"Listen, Vin. He-"

"Ah, Jackson!" A short man in a suit walked into the cafeteria and up to Nathan. "Thought I might find one of you here! Larabee awake yet?"

Nathan frowned. "No, Carter, he's not, and since when did Internal Affairs give a damn?"

"Since Mr. Larabee came under investigation," he replied calmly.

"'Investigation?" Vin repeated.

"What are you talking about?'" demanded Nathan.

"Larabee was involved in an accident with another driver. An accident with a fatality. We have reason to believe Larabee may have been DUI at the time."

Vin eyed him warily. "WHAT reason?"

Carter looked at him haughtily. "Look, hotshot, this is about Larabee, not you. I don't have to reveal any details about an ongoing investigation to YOU."

The sharpshooter would not be deterred. "What about a blood test? A blood test from the ER will clear him."

"Missing. That was a busy night in the ER and right now, that test still can't be located. You know how it is with evidence, Tanner." Carter shrugged. "If it's found, his lawyer can always appeal his sentence."

Nathan was shaking with anger. "He's still in a coma, for God's sake! Can't you people even wait?"

Carter put up his hands in mock defense. "Don't bust my chops, okay, Jackson? Larabee's victim is being buried tomorrow. The next of kin want to see some justice done, or they'll have my balls on a platter. We all got a job to do. You got yours. This happens to be mine."

Nathan scowled. "If you ask me, you enjoy your job a little too much, Carter. We'll let you know when he wakes up."

Carter shrugged. "If you don't, the doc will. Good day, gentlemen."

Vin watched Carter's retreating back. "Nathan, you know what this means..."

Nathan nodded. "Chris is in some mighty big trouble this time."

* * *

Chris awoke slowly. First there was sound. Muffled noises that didn't manifest themselves into anything in particular. It was dark, but getting lighter as a jumble of indistinguishable noises slowly separated and became recognizable. He opened his eyes despite the stabbing pain, watching as pinpricks of light danced before his eyes. Where was he? Blurred images and shadows and colors came into focus to join the variety of sounds around him. He snapped his eyes shut as hammers pounded in his head.

A hospital. Which hospital? Why was he in a hospital? A car. He remembered seeing a car. And then he could recall nothing else. He would have to ask the...the...

"D-doctors," he said at last, to no one in particular.

A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey, there."

Chris opened his eyes slowly. He tried to turn his head but something around his neck prevented that. There was a rustling and Vin moved into his field of vision. Chris didn't know why he should be especially relieved to see him but he was. But something nagged at the back of his mind anyway, leaving him in a confused tangle of emotions.

"V-Vin–" Chris stopped. What did he want to say? Something came to him, like out of the vague edges of a dream. Something Vin had said to him...Something he didn't like...

Vin forced a smile. "You recognize me."

"Wh-what–?" Chris stopped. He looked at Vin with a puzzled frown.

Vin's eyes revealed nothing as he looked back at Chris. "Easy, Cowboy. You had a bad accident. How do you feel?"

"M-m-my head works. No. P-pains. Yeah. Yeah, pains." Why couldn't he make any sense?

His lower left leg felt particularly heavy and stiff. He guessed it was in a cast, which meant it was probably broken. His right arm and leg felt heavy, too, as if asleep. He tried to move them but...nothing. He frowned. He tried to move his arm, his fingers, even wiggle his toes, but nothing was responding. Gradually a feeling of fear began to creep into his chest, causing his heartbeat and breathing to come faster. Chris looked at him sharply.

"W-w-what hh-happened?" His voice croaked and his eyes widened at the difficulty of asking those two words. He could almost see them, knew what they meant, but they wouldn't come out without a struggle. Before he could try to say anything more, Vin's attention was diverted towards the door.

"I'm sure the others'd like t' see ya, too," Vin said suddenly, "so I'll just...just wait outside." He slipped into the hallway, letting JD and Ezra inside.

* * *

Vin had seen Buck signaling him from the doorway. Now he confronted Buck in the hall.

"What?"

"Didja tell 'im?"

"He doesn't need to know just YET. Give 'im some time!"

"He ain't got time! When Carter finds out he's conscious, he'll be here to read him his Miranda rights! Is THAT how you want 'im to find out?"

Vin looked at him, trying to think of an argument, but he knew Buck was right. He had hoped to spare Chris until his condition improved, but he knew Carter wouldn't wait. He sighed tiredly.

"I'll tell 'im. I'll...tell 'im. I'll tell 'im now."

He slowly re-entered the room and sat on the bed. Sensing Vin needed to be alone with Chris, JD and Ezra left quietly.

* * *

Chris had listened stoically as Vin told him all that they knew. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

"Carter says they have evidence. What do you remember?"

Chris paused a moment, then shook his head, again regretting the action.

_I wouldn't drive drunk,_ thought Chris, and he tried to tell Vin so. "I d-d-d-...Shit...I not–" What was the word he was looking for? He knew what he wanted to say, but the more desperately he tried to speak, the harder it became. What was _wrong_ with him?

He felt tired and now he just wanted everyone to leave him alone so he could absorb everything he'd been told.

"T-t–...Sleep," Chris said.

"The doc'll be here soon. You want me to stay till then?"

Chris shook his head again. He needed to be alone. He'd killed someone. Had he been driving drunk like they said? He was sure he wouldn't have done such a thing–ever–but...It was no use; he couldn't remember. He thought he remembered images of a bar, but...No, there was nothing but a void where his memories should be. He wondered about the other driver...and what he'd done. But...he couldn't have been drunk, he just couldn't have. How could he live with himself, knowing...It just couldn't be true.

He ran his trembling left hand over his face, hating the loss of control of his right side and his inability to give voice to his thoughts. But it still beat the alternative: the other driver was dead.

His head started to pound even more. Then he felt something else. Something that seemed to start at the back of his neck and spread rapidly through his body. Suddenly his muscles cramped painfully and he couldn't catch his breath. He looked at Vin in a frightened, mute appeal for help.

Vin stood up, the fear in Chris's eyes now matching his own. He stared in horror as Chris went into a seizure.

"Nathan!"

Nathan rushed in, followed closely by a nurse and a doctor.

"C'mon, Vin, let's get out of their way. Nothin' we can do here." He ushered a reluctant Vin out of the room and pulled his cell phone from his waistband.

Time seemed not so much to have stopped as to be moving backwards. The waiting was bad enough but watching Vin's pacing and fidgeting was driving Nathan near crazy. Most of the time, the team sharpshooter was eerily calm, but right now it was like looking at a different person.

"I can't stand this anymore," said Nathan. "Walk some of that nervous energy off, can't you? Come with me and get some coffee. _Decaf_."

On their way back, they intercepted the rest of Team 7 in the hall on their way to see Chris.

"How is he?" Buck asked, as they settled into the all-too-familiar chairs.

"Doc's been with 'im-"

At that moment, the doctor appeared. He ushered them into a small waiting room off the main corridor. They followed and waited in silence.

"You're all law enforcement professionals so I'll get straight to the point. Mr. Larabee had a seizure, a result of his head injuries, but we're doing some tests to make sure. He's resting now. He also seems to have some communication problems."

The doctor took a deep breath and continued. "He's suffered some head trauma in the accident, as you probably know–and that's resulted in a brain contusion and some swelling. In addition, his right side is not responding and that's likely due to the head injuries."

He had trouble talkin'," said Vin. "Like he was havin' trouble makin' sense."

The doctor nodded. "Broca's aphasia."

"In English," said Buck.

"It sometimes happens in the case of trauma like his. The paralysis, seizures, aphasia–it's all part of that. In Mr. Larabee's case–it's like when you have a word on the tip of your tongue but can't think of it? You can picture it, describe it, but just can't think of it?"

"Frustrating as hell," Josiah agreed.

The doctor nodded, continuing. "Someone with Broca's aphasia feels like that all the time. He has difficulty finding the correct word to say and getting it out. He may also repeat the last thing he hears and he'll curse more than usual. He'll have difficulty writing, or even reading. His comprehension appears to be fine. Communication is going to be frustrating for him for awhile, so don't be surprised if he doesn't want to talk. I won't sugarcoat this: it's going to be very difficult for him."

Ezra looked around the room at the others. "And us, it sounds like."

"Any good news?" asked Buck.

"There are no guarantees, of course, but I expect him to eventually recover from his injuries. However, it's going to take time–and effort. He'll need a speech therapist, and once he regains some mobility, a physical therapist."

"Thanks, Doc," said Vin. "Can we see him now?"

"He's asleep right now, but once he awakens, I think that'd be fine."

Nathan nodded in understanding. "We'll wait."

* * *

Chris opened his eyes slowly, his head still aching, but less than when he'd first awakened. They must have given him some more painkillers, he reasoned. A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Afternoon, Chris."

"N-n-nathan?"

Nathan frowned. "That hard head o' yours took a poundin'. Pro'bly feels like mules kickin' inside yer skull, don't it?"

Nathan moved quietly to the door. "He's awake," he said and then slipped out the door into the hall.

The door opened wider and Vin appeared, looking at him anxiously. "Hey, there. How do you feel?"

Chris just looked at him. Even if he knew how he really felt, he wasn't sure he knew how to say it. His body fluctuated between moments of intense pain and then no feeling at all. His head still hurt, crushingly hurt, from time to time, and there were long stretches of disconnectedness, where he no longer knew where he was or who was around him. It was a deep, suffocating helplessness without end he'd never known before and it frightened him.

Vin seemed to sense his unease, as he carefully pulled the chair closer to the bed. He lightly touched Chris' arm where there were no tubes, and Chris welcomed not only the touch, but his own awareness of physical contact.

"You gave us all a hell of a scare, you know that?" He forced a grin but it collapsed, his voice wavering with emotion. "The doc...the doc says yer gonna be alright. I know you don't think so now, but we...we believe 'im." He looked into the skeptical green eyes, and leaned closer. "We have to, Chris, and so do you, even if you don't wanna. It's all any of us got to hang onto right now." His voice cracked and he paused.

Chris groped for Vin's hand and squeezed it weakly. The sharpshooter looked at him in an express of relief and surprise. He wiped a hand across his eyes and took a deep breath, then smiled again.

"The others are waitin' t' see ya. I better let 'em have their turns or I could be sharin' a room with ya." He stood up reluctantly and left the room.

Chris closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep now, and see his team later. He wanted most of all to dream his way out of this nightmare, but he knew the drugs would prevent that. He sighed deeply. He knew they were waiting, understood their deep loyalty and caring for him, and he prized those highly. It was what kept him alive. Probably what was keeping him alive now.

* * *

A week had passed, but for Chris and the team, the days all blended together. For Chris, the days and nights bore no distinction at all. It was just sleep, nightmares, headaches, drugs–a cycle broken only slightly by the worried faces and short, careful, one-sided conversations with his team members. For Team 7, it was rotating shifts of short visits with only the slightest improvements in Chris's condition They had each in his own way resolved to take it one day at a time. Any other way was just too overwhelming.

Nathan had finally put his foot down and insisted Vin get more sleep. Josiah and Buck had backed him up, threatening to tie him to his bed if he forced the issue.

"One night outta seven won't do," Nathan chided.

But Vin couldn't stay away. His instincts told him there was simply nowhere else in the world to be right now, and besides, there was nowhere else he wanted to be. When he returned to the hospital after only a few hours' rest, Josiah intercepted him.

"What's wrong?" Vin demanded.

"Chris has been formally charged." Vin gaped at him as the big man continued. "Carter's already left. Chris has been charged with drunk driving..."

Vin started for Chris's room, but a hand on his shoulder restrained him.

"And..." Josiah took a breath. "Vehicular manslaughter."

Vin stood very still, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"How'd Chris take it?"

Josiah shrugged. "Didn't say a word. He still doesn't remember the accident."

"I gotta see him."

"Wait. The doc–"

"_Now_. Not another word, Josiah. I've had all the sleep I can stand, so just get outta my way!"

Josiah put up his hands in surrender and stepped away.

Chris was laying in bed with his eyes closed, and at first Vin thought he was asleep–until he saw the green eyes snap open.

"Thought you was asleep."

Chris looked at Vin helplessly. "...asleep...How?"

Vin squeezed his right shoulder, forgetting for the moment that the man's entire right side was useless. "I don't know. Guess I wouldn't be able to sleep much either." He licked his lips and continued carefully. "I heard about Carter. Yer gonna need a lawyer."

"Ezra."

"Ezra's getting one?"

Chris nodded.

"Go–" He struggled to find the word, not just mentally but physically as the muscles he still controlled tightened with effort. He knew the damn word, knew it well, had used it often..."...home."

"Been home."

"No. Me."

Vin looked at him in surprise, then his eyes narrowed. He didn't think he'd heard right. "The doc told you that?"

"Next. Not now."

"Next," Vin repeated thoughtfully. "Next week? He told you that you could go home next week?"

Chris closed his eyes. He didn't want to struggle with the words anymore. Vin had the basic facts. He was an ATF agent. He could find out the rest from someone else.

"I'll be back."

Vin left the room in search of Chris's doctor. Why hadn't Josiah told him this? Not that he'd given him much chance. He stopped at the nurses' station.

The head nurse looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, Mr. Tanner, did you ever go home?"

"Yes, thank you. About Chris...The doc say somethin' about him goin' home?"

"Why, yes, he did."

"Are you sure?"

"Chris is stable now and should be well enough to go home in a week. He's still going to need a great deal of care but there's not much more we can do for him here...Didn't Mr. Sanchez tell you?"

"I think he was in a hurry," Vin mumbled. "Thank you."

* * *

Two hours had passed. Three voices now carried loudly into the hospital corridor, out of the small room set aside for families.

"I'm the one stayn' with 'im," Vin insisted defiantly.

"I've known 'im longer'n any of you!"

"Neither of you has any medical training for this!"

They had been at it for nearly half an hour, ever since they'd all learned that Chris would be going home. With six close friends, a live-in stranger was simply out of the question.

"This discussion is closed," Vin said at last. "It's gonna be me and that's that." "Why should it be you?"

"Because," he said with a smile, "I've already requested–and got–a leave of absence."

Buck scowled. "Well, you're not doing it all by yourself."

"Never planned on it."

* * *

Buck sat quietly beside Chris, watching him sleep. Two more days and Chris would be home. Buck had known Chris a long time, in good times and in bad, and had never imagined seeing him like this.

Despite Chris' regaining slight mobility in his right arm and leg, his struggles to talk had been ongoing and now he had given it up almost completely, rarely saying more than a word or two.

To Buck, he seemed so lost. He couldn't move, couldn't talk, and worst of all, he couldn't remember much of what had happened to put him in this situation. As a result, Chris was also increasingly frustrated and depressed, making it harder to give him the help he needed.

Chris still tired easily and slept frequently. Now he looked so peaceful, and Buck was grateful for small mercies.

He thought about his friend's legal future. If the vehicular manslaughter charge stuck, Chris would go to jail. If the drunk driving charge stuck, even if Chris didn't get jail time, his career in law enforcement would be over.

And Team 7 would lose their leader.

"Can't let that happen, Chris," he said in a soft whisper. "They need ya. I need ya."

With one last look at the sleep-slackened features, he quietly left the room.

* * *

At last the day of Chris's homecoming had arrived. Team 7 was almost giddy as they prepared to take Chris home. They had been given a litany of instructions. Speak slowly to him, but in a natural, adult conversational manner. Simplify language. "Gee, Ezra, might leave you speechless, huh?" "Thank you, Mr. Wilmington, for your concern but I'm sure I'll adapt." Include him in conversations and encourage him to participate. Avoid correcting him. Give him plenty of time to talk.

It was a lot to remember but, knowing Chris, getting him to talk would be no more difficult than it had always been. And would always be.

Chris could hear them all the way down the hall. It was boisterous, happy noise, and he tried to muster the energy to look happy, too, but gave it up. It was an emotion that just felt far out of reach. Tiredness, hopelessness, fear, frustration. Those were his constant companions, and there was just no room for happiness.

They didn't so much enter the room as explode into it, and he had to admit to himself that he _was_ happy to see them, happy to know he was going home. But home to what? The elusive happiness he'd felt briefly vanished again as his team prepared to take their leader home at last.

It was Josiah who drove him home. Early into the journey, the big man had made a few attempts at conversation, then gave up. It was just too soon. By early evening, they had finally neared his home. Chris peered out the passenger window; his eyes taking in the curving drive, the trees, and then at last his own front door. Josiah eased the van to a stop. He pulled a folding wheelchair out of the back and came around to Chris's side to help him out.

Once Chris was settled into the chair, Josiah paused. "You ready?" he asked gently.

Chris took a deep breath and nodded. Home. Thank God. Home at last. Josiah stepped behind him and wheeled him into the house.

Suddenly Chris found himself surrounded by his smiling team, gathered to welcome him home. From Chris's point of view, his homecoming was not a reason to celebrate. He just stared stonily back at them, hating the fact that they were seeing him in this condition. The blond agent was not particularly happy to arrive home still unable to speak normally and depending on others to see to his needs.

They were crowded in the living room, standing by something covered by a sheet. Ezra whipped it off with a flourish.

"Ta-DA!" JD and Buck were grinning proudly, flanking a motorized wheelchair.

Chris stared at it.

"Now, Chris, look at the bright side," Buck had said, indicating the wheelchair. "It's rented."

Chris arched an eyebrow. "Meaning...?"

"Meanin' it's only temporary."

Chris looked at them all mutinously.

"Chris, ya ain't got much choice," said Buck in a conciliatory tone. "It's either this or ya stay in bed."

Slowly, clumsily, and with help from Buck, Chris managed to get into the chair. He hated it almost immediately. He closed his eyes tightly. Suddenly he wanted them all to leave. He wanted them to stop staring at him, to stop trying to be so damn helpful. He wanted to stop seeing the pain, sorrow, and worst of all, pity in their eyes. Each glimpse into their faces lanced into his heart.

He opened his eyes again and looked up to see Vin return from outside carrying a large, overstuffed backpack.

"I'm stayin' with ya," said Vin in response to Chris's questioning look.

"No."

"Chris, be reasonable," said Buck. "Someone's gotta stay here with ya and it might as well be someone you know. Vin was able arrange a leave of absence. Now just accept it."

For a long moment, Chris studied the buttons and lever required to run the chair. Then, without a word, he flicked the lever and abruptly disappeared into the bedroom. The others watched in silence.

"Should we–" JD began.

"I'll talk to 'im," said Buck.

"No," said Vin. "I'll go. You guys can let yourselves out, right?"

Chris had wheeled himself into the bedroom. His anger seemed to have drained away and realization struck. He was waiting for Vin when he came in the room.

"What do you want, Chris?"

Chris was looking at the bathroom.

"You need to...?"

"Sh-shower."

"Wouldja settle for a bath?"

Chris glanced at him uncertainly, then nodded. Vin turned on the tap and helped him undress. After retrieving a plastic bag from the kitchen, he covered Chris's cast. He gently maneuvered him into the bath, taking care to keep his broken leg out of the water.

"Is that better?"

Chris nodded again. "Alone," he said pointedly.

"Sorry, but I can't. If you have a seizure, you could hurt yourself or drown. I'll turn my back, how's that?"

Chris scowled but Vin could tell he understood.

When the bath was done, he helped Chris into a pair of boxers, wrapped him in the thick, terrycloth robe, and set him back in the wheelchair. Chris's eyelids drooped. Probably the medications.

"Th-th-that. No. Not that. Not–Thanks."

"Thank me when yer feelin' better." Vin started to turn down the bedcovers. The sound of Chris's chair leaving the room caused him to stop. Chris had indeed disappeared from the room.

"This is gonna be a long leave," Vin muttered as he hurried to see where Chris had gone.

The blond was in the kitchen, turned sideways of the refrigerator. He had managed to get the long door open and was rummaging inside with his good hand.

"What're you lookin' for?"

Chris ignored him, reaching further inside. Finally he pulled out what he wanted. A beer.

"No, you don't." Vin took it smoothly out of his hand. "Not with _your_ medications. Besides you can't even open it." He looked at Chris appraisingly. "Knowin' you, you'd find a way. Do you want something to eat instead?"

"No," Chris said petulantly then immediately relented. "Yes."

"Fine. You want it by the TV? Or in bed?"

"H-here."

Vin understood. Chris was trying to act like his life was back to normal. But it wasn't and it wouldn't be. Not for a long time, if ever. Vin fixed supper for both of them, taking care to cut up Chris's food for him. Chris watched, stone-faced.

"Tired?"

"No."

Vin knew he had to be. The medications alone would make sure of that. He watched Chris's face, waiting.

Chris looked at him.

"N-n-n-," he struggled.

Vin waited, remembering the doctor's instructions. "Take your time, Chris."

Chris seemed to give up trying to find the word he wanted to say and thought a moment. "D-d-dreams," he said at last.

"Dreams? What about dreams? Are you having nightmares?"

Chris nodded.

"The accident?"

"You."

"You're having nightmares about me? Can you tell me about them?"

"No. C-c-can't rec-rec-remember."

"But I'm in them?"

Chris held back a yawn.

"Chris, you gotta sleep. You know you do. Want me to stay with you instead of in the guest room?"

The look in Chris's eyes was answer enough. It was a good idea, Vin reasoned. Given Chris's immobility and communication problems, it was debatable whether he could call for help if he needed it. Remembering that Buck would be back in an hour with groceries, he called him to also bring over his folding cot.

The idea proved to be a sound one. It was the middle of the night when sounds – intangible ones – woke him. His heart leaped into his throat as Chris struggled against another seizure. Vin quickly turned on the lamp and reached for the prescription Chris needed.

Within seconds that seemed like hours, Chris's body began to relax. He took a deep, exhausted breath.

"You're okay," Vin soothed.

Chris looked at him doubtfully but said nothing more. Assured at last that Chris was indeed okay for now, Vin turned off the light and settled back onto the cot.

"V-V-Vin."

"Yeah?"

"I...I didn't...do that."

"Do what?"

"C-c-carter."

"I know. Now try to get to sleep."

For his own part, Vin wondered how long it'd be before any of them really knew a good night's sleep again.

* * *

For both Vin and Chris, time began to lose any significance. The days and nights were an endless stream of speech therapy, physical therapy, naps, and medications, punctuated by the occasional seizure. Chris's doctor had changed his anti-seizure medication and, for a few days, that seemed to work. By the third day, Chris was suffering from stomach cramps and nausea, and his doctor changed his medication again.

By that time, Vin was exhausted. He was grateful to Ezra, who had thoughtfully brought Chris some audio books since his aphasia was still making reading too much work.

It was Saturday afternoon and Vin was trying to figure out what to cook for dinner. Chris had made it plain he didn't want anything that had to be cut up for him. The sharpshooter could understand that: it made Chris feel like a helpless 3-year-old.

"Vin?"

"Kitchen, JD!"

JD entered the kitchen, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets. Vin looked at him. "Where's his pills?"

"They wouldn't give 'em to me. They need to see an ID and I'm not Vin Tanner."

Vin sighed. "Gimme the keys. I'll get 'em. Fix Chris's dinner, okay? He's supposed to have food before he takes his meds."

"No prob," said JD cheerily. The smile faded as the door closed behind Vin. JD rarely cooked anything that didn't come in a plastic tray and require pushing a few buttons. But somehow, he knew Vin wouldn't be pleased if JD served Chris a meal of Hot Pockets and Sunny Delight.

He looked in the refrigerator but found nothing particularly promising. What did Chris like to eat anyhow? Steak. He liked steak. Wolfed it down whenever they grilled it outside. He retrieved three of them from the deep freeze: one for Chris, one for Vin, and one for himself. There was a box of instant potatoes in the pantry. And there had been some frozen green beans in the freezer. That would do.

Vin would've approved, he was sure. Now all he had to do was find Chris's copy of _The Joy of Cooking_. Buck had ordered it off Amazon, thinking it was a different _Joy of_ book entirely, and had been so disappointed that it became a birthday present for Chris.

Now he dug it out, the paper dust jacket crackling, as he opened it to the chapter on defrosting.

Dinner was just about done when Vin finally returned. He muttered a curse word and "road construction" before calling from the living room, "How's Chris doin'?"

"Last I saw, he was listenin' to one of those books on tape. You want to bring him in here, and I'll get the food on the table?"

"Okay."

JD carefully arranged the food on three plates. Vin was still in bedroom with Chris, so JD put his hands on his hips and carefully surveyed the table. It would be nice if...He dug into a drawer for some placemats, napkins, and...where...ah, here...candles. Dress up the table real nice. Might make Chris feel a little better, who knows? He lit the candles as, behind him, came the sound of Chris's wheelchair approaching. He turned and grinned with a flourish.

"Dinner is served, sir. We've reserved the finest table in the house for you."

For an instant, Chris looked at him as if JD had lost his mind, then managed a small grin. He positioned his chair at the table and pulled the napkin into his lap.

"No...m-menus?"

JD smiled. "No, sir, just the specialty of the house." He placed the three plates on the table and sat down.

Vin looked down at his plate and grimaced. A whole steak. He knew what was coming, but was too late to stop it. JD had reached over and had just started to cut Chris's food for him.

Chris's face clouded and then, with an inarticulate cry of rage and frustration, he swept his good arm across the table, sending everything on it flying. He thrashed about, his inability to express his frustration only intensifying his emotions. As he tried to push the table away from himself, he leaned too far forward and pitched onto the floor.

Vin was beside him in an instant, his arms wrapped tightly around Chris, desperate to get him to calm down before he induced a seizure.

"Chris!" he shouted, trying to get the man's attention. "Chris! Listen to me! Stop it! Calm down!" Vin knelt beside him, Chris's torso leaning against him. He tightened his grip on Chris, who was trying to kick his broken leg. Slowly, Chris began to quiet, his eyes squeezed shut, lungs heaving. The growls of rage gave way to heartwrenching sobs that shook his entire body in Vin's arms.

"I know," Vin whispered gently in his ear. "I know. It's hard, Chris, and I know how much you want this whole nightmare to be over. How much you want to get better. It's just going to take some time. But we're not gonna let you go through this alone. You're never alone, no matter what happens. You gotta understand and believe that."

He loosened his hold slightly on Chris, letting the blond sob out all his frustration, anger, and fear. He felt his own eyes burning wetly for the anguish his friend and co-worker was going through. A hot tear slid down his face, as Chris's sobs slowly subsided.

JD stood in the doorway, silently watching the two men give vent to their emotions. His own voice choked slightly as he spoke. "Um...Vin?"

Vin nodded, sniffling. He patted Chris on his hip and said "C'mon, Chris. Off the floor. JD, give me a hand."

Once Chris was back in his chair, Vin surveyed the mess. He forced a smile. Crouching in front of Chris, he said with more enthusiasm than he felt, "Why don't we go out for dinner, you and me? JD can clean up here."

Chris shook his head.

"Chris, you gotta eat so you can take your meds. Don't fight me on this 'cause I'm gonna win, and we both know it."

The team leader let out a weary sigh and nodded.

"Good. Now wipe yer face."

JD pulled Vin aside, as Chris wheeled himself over to the sink for a damp paper towel.

"What'd I do wrong?"

"JD...Look...If yer gonna serve 'im his meals, it might be a good idea if you cut up his food BEFORE you put it in front of him."

JD nodded in understanding, his cheeks reddening. "I shoulda thought of that."

"It's okay. He probably needed to get that outta his system anyway. I know if it was me, I couldn't 've held out this long."

"Guess I'd better start cleaning up."

"Guess so," said Vin, gently squeezing his shoulder.

* * *

The next evening found a very reluctant Vin being sent home by a very insistent Buck.

"We had a deal," Buck reminded him. "Told ya you wasn't doin' this all by yerself. Now git on home."

Vin looked at him doubtfully, then glanced at Josiah, who shrugged helplessly. Josiah had come ostensibly to visit Chris but really to mediate. He had predicted how this was going to go and so far he'd been right.

"He's right, Vin. You know he's right."

Vin turned back to Buck. "Be sure he takes his meds. He won't want to, and the big pill makes him kinda sick at first, but give him a little warm milk and he'll be fine."

"Yes, mother."

"He should sleep through the night an' if' he don't–"

"–I'll bash 'im in the head with a lamp. Now will you get OUTTA here?"

Josiah caught Vin's arm and pulled him toward the door. "Go, Vin..."

"–but–"

"GO, Vin."

"What if–"

"GO, VIN!" Buck and Josiah cried in unison. Josiah gave him a push out the door and closed it behind him.

Vin shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his sweatshirt. "Guess I'll go then," he muttered.

He'd just made it to his jeep when Josiah opened the door and called out "And don't come back till you've SLEPT!" Then the door closed again.

* * *

It was hours later when Vin woke up, disoriented. It was almost strange to be in his own home now. Through the fog he heard a knock at the door. He raked his fingers through his hair and stumbled to the door.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tanner," Ezra greeted him, a small plastic bag in his hand.

"Afternoon?" Had he really been asleep that long?

Ezra slipped inside and closed the door.

"What do you want?" Vin's eyes were suddenly very wide awake. "Is it Chris?"

"As far as I know, Mr. Larabee's condition is unchanged. Regrettably. That lawyer I hired is supposed to visit him today." Ezra took a step closer. "We need to talk."

Vin dropped onto the sofa, leaned forward on his elbows and ran his hands through his hair. "So talk."

"I took the liberty of visiting the Evidence Room."

The sharpshooter gaped at him, his eyes narrowing. "You tampered with evidence?"

"Borrowed, Mr. Tanner. Merely borrowed. Does this look familiar to you?" Using his handkerchief, he held out the bottle. "It's your brand, isn't it?"

Vin swallowed hard. It was. This was the 'evidence' they had that Chris was drunk. An empty liquor bottle in Chris's truck. And it wasn't even his.

"I have to see Carter." Vin abruptly got to his feet, but Ezra restrained him with a hand on his chest. "Ezra–"

"Mr. Tanner–Vin–I'm as eager as you are to see Mr. Larabee exonerated, but I'd suggest being just a little circumspect."

Vin put his hands on his hips with impatience. "The _point_?"

"See Travis first. If you're going to meet with Carter, make sure he's present."

"Why?"

"Just a hunch. But if you're going to see Carter at all, just be sure Travis is with you. I've met more of Carter's kind than I'd care to admit, even to myself." He looked at Vin grimly. "Trust me on this, Vin."

Vin nodded. "Guess I better call Travis, then."

* * *

Chris hated his damn medication. It made him sick or sleepy, but it didn't seem to do much else. He'd have avoided it altogether if his six nursemaids weren't determined to force it down his throat anyway.

He groggily opened his eyes and tried to stretch. Well, his left arm anyway. He tried to move his right arm, but the effort turned out to be more than the result was worth. His arm moved a few inches in a sudden, disjointed twitch. Deep down, he was grateful for any movement at all, but the lack of control still frightened him more than he wanted to admit. He slowly straightened his left leg. He knew the cast would come off soon and if he knew for sure which damn day it was, he'd know how soon.

Damn meds.

He could hear muffled voices approaching his bedroom, and a moment later Buck entered, followed by a man who could've been Ezra's cousin. He dressed with the same attention to detail and with the same appreciation for overpriced high fashion. Must be that lawyer. About time.

"Mr. Larabee, good to see you again."

Again? Damn meds.

At Chris's blank look, he continued. "We met at the hospital; that's fine if you don't remember. Adrian Hart?"

Chris frowned and looked at Buck doubtfully. Hart sat in the chair beside the bed and began to sort through a leather briefcase. He pulled out some papers and leaned toward Chris. "Now...Can you hear me, Mr. Larabee?" he asked in a loud voice.

Buck frowned. "He's not deaf. He hears just fine. Just talk slow and avoid them Ezra words. You know the ones."

Chris looked at him. "Buck...alone. P-please?"

Sure thing, stud." He looked warily at Hart. "But you call me if you need anythin'. I'll be in the livin' room with Josiah."

* * *

"What are you doing in my office, Tanner? Oh, sorry, Travis. Didn't see you there." Carter put on an ingratiating smile and sat behind his desk. "This is about Larabee, isn't it?"

"Not exactly," said Vin. "It's about me."

"Confessing your sins? Not my job."

"Carter–," Travis began warningly.

"Sorry. Go on."

"Chris wasn't drunk that night. I was."

"You?"

"Yeah. Me." Vin rubbed his palms together and looked at the floor. "That bottle in his truck?"

"How'd you know about–?"

"It's mine. Ain't Chris's brand."

"Look." Carter stood up and came around the desk to perch on a corner. "With all due respect to the AD here...Tanner, you're full of crap."

Vin looked up at him sharply.

I don't know how you knew about that bottle but we all know how tight you guys are with Larabee. You can't help him this time by trying to take the rap for him–"Vin exploded from his chair. "That's a lie! Chris didn't do it! And I'll prove it!"

"Go ahead. Give it your best shot."

Vin looked at him levelly, then turned to go. In a tightly-controlled voice between clenched teeth, he said, "I will."

Travis stood up to follow and paused, gazing levelly at Carter. "Meanwhile, you see to it that a DNA test is run on that bottle opening. I'm sure Mr. Tanner here is willing to provide a sample."

Vin nodded.

Travis leaned closer until he was nose-to-nose with Carter. "And if that evidence gets 'lost,' Carter, you'll spend the rest of your career searching for it; do we understand each other?"

Carter's cocky smile faded. "Sure...Sure, Travis."

"Good."

Vin didn't speak again until he and Travis were in the elevator.

"A DNA test takes time...It doesn't look good, does it," Vin muttered.

"No," Travis said quietly. "Truthfully, it doesn't." He placed a hand on Vin's shoulder. "If anyone _can_ help him, though, I know it'll be you boys."

"Got that right," Vin replied grimly.

* * *

It was Friday when Chris was taken back to the hospital to have his cast removed. His spirits seemed better but all the attempts to smile were wearing him out. At least now he could use the left side of his body, which increased his mobility.

The toughest challenge lay ahead: making sure the others understood he didn't need them constantly anymore. Chris was far from independent, but at least he would be able to do more things for himself, like even get in and out of his chair, go to the bathroom, and even bathe. He was looking forward to the privacy.

The others were there for the cast removal, happy to celebrate any milestone that indicated some kind of recovery. Chris noted, though, that they were strangely quiet on the way back to his ranch and seemed to be cautious around him.

Once they arrived, Chris was helped out of the van and into his chair. He started up the walkway, but couldn't stand it anymore and brought the chair to an abrupt halt.

"What?" he demanded.

The others looked at each other uncomfortably, as if unsure who should speak next.

"Sunday, Chris," Josiah said softly.

"S-Sunday what?"

Buck took a step toward him. "The annual interdepartment football game. We were wondering...Never mind. We're not going. We don't play if we don't ALL play."

Chris shook his head. "Play."

Nathan looked uncertain. "You sure? We don't have to...We figured maybe you wouldn't want to, considering..."

"N-no. N-n-not g-goin'."

"Chris–"

"NO!"

JD looked at the others. "I'm kinda hungry, and I bet Chris is, too. Why don't you guys...? We'll be in in a minute."

"Sure?"

JD nodded and the others filed into the house. He squatted in front of Chris's chair so that they were nearly eye level.

"Chris–"

"NO."

"Listen, I understand. Honest I do. But Chris, we're a team now and we all need to stick together like a team. That's how we survive, that's how we succeed, y'know? And if we're a team, then all of us need to be there. We need you to cheer us on." He looked into Chris's eyes, trying to see if he was getting through. "Besides...", he grinned, "Don't you wanna see us kick Carter's ass and his whole department, too?"

A slow grin spread across Chris's face. He reached out with his good hand and affectionately rumpled JD's hair.

* * *

Sunday morning was a clear day, though brisk. Chris's chair jolted like a covered wagon over the lumpy grass as he and his team headed for the sidelines of the playing field. There was a large crowd that had turned out to watch the game, the last one of the season. It was down to Chris's team, including some members of Team 8 to round out the roster, and Carter's. Most office pools had favored Team 7. At least until word had spread about Chris's accident.

He could feel their stares, despite being protectively surrounded by his team. He could tell by some of their faces what they must be thinking: that Drunk Driver Chris Larabee had no business being here at all. He began to regret letting JD persuade him to come to this.

"You can't give in, Chris," Buck said softly from his left.

"At least not till you've had your day in court," Ezra added from his right. "Every man is innocent until proven guilty."

Chris said nothing as he came to stop beside the players' bench.

"Now let's kick some ass!" shouted JD, exuberantly.

"You guys show 'em how it's done," Vin said with a grin.

The game got underway, with Team 7 scoring within the first few minutes. Vin stayed by Chris's side, with one eye on Chris and one on the game. Team 7, with Team 8's help, managed to hold their lead through the entire first half, but sometimes barely.

It took him a little while, but Chris seemed to enjoy himself and Vin was grateful for that. Chris loved sports: whether playing, watching, or just talking about it. Every now and then, though, he'd raise his left fist in the air and shout in an inarticulate cheer. When they scored on one particularly good play, Chris turned to him, his eyes shining. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then his face clouded as he remembered his difficulties. He turned back to the playing field, his manner subdued. Vin sighed but said nothing.

Some of Carter's playing style bordered on questionably legal. By the second half, Carter was on the sidelines, taking a break from the play as he yelled at his team to "get your butts in gear or all leaves will be cancelled while you guys do some PT."

Vin watched him as one of Carter's teammates ploughed into JD just short of the 20-yard line, sending him face first into the dirt.

JD wasn't getting up.

Instead, he sat up and looked like he was trying to move but couldn't. Vin watched as Josiah helped him up and brought JD, limping, back to the bench, with Nathan trailing close behind.

As Nathan and Vin moved in to help, JD was saying, "Just tape it tight. I can still play!"

Nathan shook his head as he looked at the swollen ankle. It was already looking like it was severely bruised. "This ain't pro ball, JD. You run on that, you'll likely hurt it worse."

"And Travis'll have us for lunch for allowing you," Ezra added.

JD shook his head. "But we need–" His face brightened. "Vin!"

"Ohhhh no. I just came here to cheer you guys on. I'm here for Chris, remember?"

Buck straightened. "Hell, he ain't goin' nowhere 'fore the game's over, right, Chris?"

JD looked up, his hazel eyes pleading. "Vin, we need you to play or we forfeit. Just this quarter? Once the swelling comes down–OW!–I'll be back in..."

Nathan looked at JD in exasperation. "I done tol' you you ain't playin' no more today." Then he turned to Vin. "But he's right: you don't play, Carter wins."

Vin sighed and turned to Chris. "You be okay here by yourself?"

Chris nodded. "Kick...a-a-ass."

Vin grinned. In truth, he had longed to play just as much as he knew Chris did.

"JD, see to it he takes his meds. He should be takin' half of 'em soon."

With hoots and hollers, the team returned to the field, Vin leading the way. JD began sifting through the various bottles until he had a small collection of capsules and tablets. He looked around.

"I'll find you a clean cup so you can swallow 'em," he said at last, limping off and leaving Chris sitting by himself

Chris wasn't alone for long.

"Well, well. Looks like your team is giving mine a little competition after all. Didn't think they had it in 'em. Won't help though. My team's gonna nail yours in the end."

Carter.

He approached Chris's chair until he was almost in the team leader's face. "And I'm gonna nail your ass in the same way. You might as well give it up now, Larabee." He glanced at the chair. "I wonder if they allow these in prison." Carter looked at him and grinned. "Are you scared? 'Cause you should be. And when you're gone, I'm gonna take a closer look at that team of yours. Your kind gives the rest of us a bad name and I'm gonna bury you so deep–"

Chris could feel the rage boiling inside of him. His left fist clenched helplessly. He wanted so much to wipe the smug look off Carter's face...The intensity of emotion brought back a familiar feeling he had come to hate, even as his muscles began to tighen throughout his body.

Meanwhile, Vin was advancing down the field, chasing the opposing team's quarterback. The guy was fast, but not fast enough as Vin brought him down in a flying tackle. He looked up from where he lay on the ground, instinctively glancing Chris's way, when he stopped.

Carter was standing there, staring at Chris and Chris looked like he might be having a–-

"Damn!" Vin leapt to his feet and ran toward Chris. JD was just limping into view, a white foam cup in his hand. He looked at Vin who was running toward Chris, then dropped the cup and limped toward them as fast as he could.

"I didn't lay a hand on 'im," Carter said, his palms up in surrender.

"Carter, get the hell away from him!" Vin dug frantically into the pack attached to Chris's chair till he found the medicine.

Within minutes, Chris had quieted down, his eyes now drooping.

"I just went to get 'im some water..." JD began.

"It's okay," Vin said. "Look, I better take 'im home and put 'im to bed."

"Is he gonna be all right?"

Vin nodded. "He just needs some rest."

Nathan turned to JD with a sigh. "Looks like you're playin' after all. But if Travis asks, you hurt that ankle at the end of the _fourth_ quarter, understand?"

JD grinned at him. "Whatever you say, Doc."

* * *

After the football game, Team 7 returned to Chris's ranch to check on their friend. Vin assured them he was fine, just asleep, and that he'd be sure to tell him about their victory when he awakened.

Finally the house was quiet. Vin sighed and flopped down onto the sofa. With one hand, he rubbed his eyes. Chris still remembered almost nothing of the accident and the meeting with the lawyer was the day after tomorrow, after Chris finally got the cast off his leg.

He himself had told Chris nearly everything he knew about it up until the time Chris dropped him off, but he'd always been careful to leave out the argument they'd had. Vin remembered that part of it better than he wanted to. It wouldn't do any good to dredge that all up again with Chris. For one thing, Chris had enough to deal with. For another, Vin didn't want Chris getting angry all over again. More likely he wouldn't, but Vin wasn't willing to risk it.

Vin yawned and stretched. Not wanting to fall asleep on the couch, he ambled off to bed.

* * *

The next morning, Chris headed slowly toward the barn. In another time, he'd have come down here, barely aware of the crunch of gravel or rustle of grass under his boots, or the slight shift of his body against the slope of the hill as he nearly reached the bottom. Even now he could almost feel the warm saddle, the feel of a horse beneath him, the bellows-like in and out of its breathing in rhythm with each step, until the separation between horse and man blurred and disappeared.

He sighed before continuing inside.

* * *

"Mornin'!" Buck called out as he burst into the house with a cheery smile and headed to the kitchen. "Them eggs I smell? And hash browns?"

Vin nodded. "Want some?"

"Just had breakfast. She insisted before she headed off to work," Buck added slyly. "If ya know what I mean."

"Buck, a Tibetan monk would know what you meant."

The ladies man just chuckled as he took a plate from the cabinet and began to heap eggs and fried potatoes onto it. "Don't 'spose there's any bacon?"

"Crispy?"

"Near burnt's fine, thanks."

"Glad you ain't hungry," Vin muttered under his breath, even as he was careful not to overcook the bacon strips.

"Where's Chris?" Buck asked between mouthfuls.

Vin sipped at his coffee. "Last I saw, he was headin' down the hill, toward the barn."

"To do what?"

He shrugged. "He roams around sometimes. You know how he is about feelin' cooped up."

Buck nodded, but Vin could sense that Chris being out of sight made him uneasy.

"We can finish our coffee down by the barn. C'mon."

* * *

At the far end of the barn was Nemesis, a young mare he had recently acquired. The animal was skittish and still needed a lot of handling before it could be considered trained. Chris was reluctant to let JD do it, given Nemesis's temperament, but he did allow the young agent to tend the horse's basic needs.

Chris approached her as Nemesis began to fidget.

"Whoa, girl," he said in a calm voice, coming closer. He began to wonder if the fidgeting might be something else, like something caught in her shoe.

Suddenly the horse began to rear and kick in the confined space. The flying hooves caught Chris squarely in the chest, knocking the wind painfully out of him as the chair wedged against the wall.

He struggled to avoid the deadly kicks but one hit him hard in his left shoulder. Another caught him in the ribs. He felt something give, followed by a sharp pain in his midsection and then he could no longer breathe.

He heard voices shouting and felt himself being lifted out of his chair and lowered to the ground. Sharp pains stabbed into his torso and shoulder from all directions. Through half-closed eyes, he saw feet moving around him. Buck was trying to calm the horse. His vision was dimming but he could see Vin kneeling beside him.

"He's turning blue. We need an ambulance!" Buck shouted even as he was already dialing his cell phone with shaking hands.

"Hang in there," Vin pleaded softly, cradling the blond head in his hands. "Help is on the way."

* * *

The hospital was an all-too-familiar place for the team since Chris's accident.

Josiah and JD were in the cafeteria on the obligatory coffee run. Vin was draped in a chair, staring at the floor. Buck had not stopped pacing since they'd arrived. Finally he came to a stop in front of Vin.

"Why'd you let him roam around like that?"

"What was I supposed to do? Tie him up?"

"You shoulda been watchin' him more carefully!"

Vin jumped to his feet, his face an inch from Buck's. "You think you could do any better?"

The two men were suddenly pushed apart as Josiah wedged his large frame between them. "That's enough! Both o' you! Now, you can both kill each other later–"

Buck eyed him. "Promise?"

"Swear to God."

Vin made a move toward Buck but Josiah caught him and half-dragged him outside. Vin struggled against him before he finally stopped. He hung his head, his voice catching.

"I can't do this, Josiah. He needs me. I'm with him constantly. I help him with everything. I was afraid to let 'im outta my sight for the longest and when I finally do..." His voice broke again and he took a deep breath. "When I finally do, somethin' like this happens."

"Vin–"

The sharpshooter looked up at him with stricken eyes. "It–it's my fault. This whole thing–" "Now–"

"No! He drove me home that night. He woulda been home at the ranch...Home...Every time I look at him...I see the damage I've caused."

His body began to tremble and Josiah put his arms around him in a hug. When he felt Vin's trembling subside, he released him, putting his hands on Vin's shoulders.

"You can't change what happened. Chris isn't blamin' you. He came to the aid of a friend who needed him. That's how he is; you know that."

Vin nodded, a lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything more. Numbly, he allowed the big man to lead him back inside.

JD was looking at them. He turned to Josiah. "He all right?"

"He's fine."

Just then, they were approached by Anne, a competent and pretty ER nurse the team had come to know well over the course of their 'adventures'.

Buck put an arm around her, smiling warmly despite the concern in his eyes. "How's he doin'?"

"He has a couple of broken ribs and some severe bruising. One of them punctured a lung, but he has a chest tube now and he should recover. He's lucky his leg wasn't rebroken. You can see him now, if you like. You boys know the drill."

"Annie, you're a peach," Buck smiled as he gave her a peck on the forehead.

She watched them go. "You bet I am," she sighed, shaking her head, as the four men headed down the hall.

* * *

"Mr. Wilmington! Can I see you for a moment?"

It was Chris's doctor. The others stopped.

"You go ahead," said Josiah. "We'll see Chris and you can join us there."

Buck nodded and followed the doctor into a small private room for families.

The doctor sat in a chair opposite him. "I wanted to talk to one of you about Chris's condition."

"Somethin' wrong?" Buck asked as he sat down.

"Overall, how do you think he's doing?"

Buck thought about it a moment. "He's improving. Not as fast as any of us would like, and this little setback sure don't help. But yeah, I guess you could say he's getting better."

"Does he talk much?"

"Well, doc, y'know...Chris never has been much of a talker–"

"I've met with his treatment team, including his speech therapist, from time to time. Do you know his speech therapy sessions have not been...well...productive?"

"I know Vin brings him every time. He never misses an appointment."

"He never talks either. He sits there, the entire hour and barely says a word. Mr. Wilmington...Buck...You and your friends need to try a little harder with him, no matter how much he resists. He needs to practice if he wants to get any better."

"Right." Buck stood up to go. "I'll tell the others. We'll do our best but don't count on no Chris Larabee Gabfest."

* * *

Vin strode across the hospital parking lot, his mood better than it had been in many days. And why not? The doc had told them that Chris's seizures seemed to have decreased during his stay in the hospital. The chest tube had done its job and Chris was breathing just fine. He still had some powerful painkillers, but Vin was grateful to see any improvement at all in Chris. They all were.

As he neared the hospital entrance, he frowned. A too-familiar figure had just entered several yards ahead of him. Vin broke into a run.

He glanced around quickly before instinctively taking the nearest corridor that led to Chris's room. He watched the figure disappear into the elevator. Without pausing a beat, Vin yanked open the door to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time.

He stopped on Chris's floor, beating the elevator by seconds. The door slid open.

"What're you doin' here, Carter?"

"What? I can't come by to visit a...defendant?"

Vin moved closer until he was an inch from Carter's face. "You mean 'colleague.'"

Carter was unfazed. "Maybe to _you_, Tanner, but in the eyes of the law, he's a defendant."

"You know he didn't do it. Now why are you here?"

"I have an investigation of my own, if you'll recall."

"You can't see 'im."

"Is that _your_ orders, Tanner?"

Vin stared at him, barely controlling his anger. "You've done enough. There'll be plenty of time to talk to him when he's out of the hospital."

At that moment, the elevator had returned. The door slid open again and a voice interrupted the two men.

"Well, my, my. Mr. Carter has graced us with a visit," Ezra said with exaggerated politeness. He moved closer and lowered his voice. "Is there something we can do to expedite your departure? Like open a window?"

"Easy, boys," said Carter, a film of sweat forming on his upper lip. "We're in a hospital."

"That should prove convenient for you then," Ezra replied.

Carter began to squirm uncomfortably. "If this is a bad time for him–"

''–It is."

"Then fine, I can come back." Carter adjusted his tie and backed into the open elevator. He shook his finger at them as the door began to close, effectively shielding him. "But I'll be back!"

"Thanks, Ezra," muttered Vin. "I don't think I coulda held back much longer."

"You're not the only one."

"What're you doin' here, anyway?" Vin asked as the two continued down the hall to Chris's room.

"Mr. Hart is supposed to be visiting Chris today. I thought I'd stop by to see how things were working out with him."

Vin nodded and pushed the door open.

Adrian Hart was by Chris's bedside. Chris was sitting up on bed, a small sheaf of papers on the bedtray in front of him. The two men looked up as Vin and Ezra entered the room.

"Now, if you'll just sign that, Chris, I'll take it back to the prosecutor."

Vin's eyes narrowed. "What is that?" he demanded, looking at the papers.

Ezra snatched the papers from the tray and began to read. He looked up at Vin, his voice tinged with anger. "It's a plea agreement. According to this, Mr. Larabee has agreed to a lesser charge–"

Vin turned to Chris in horror. "NO! No, Chris, you can't do this. You didn't do it. You know you didn't! And we'll prove it..." His voice faltered. "...somehow."

Adrian Hart shook his head. "How? Be realistic, Mr. Tanner. He doesn't want to subject himself to a trial. Do you think he's in any condition to testify favorably on his own behalf?"

Vin looked at Chris, shouting in angry frustration. "Don't you understand? If you're convicted, they'll sue! They'll take _everything_, including the ranch! Your career, your home, everything you've ever worked for!"

Vin could see the hurt and fear in Chris's eyes. He knew Chris would've fought to clear his name if it weren't for his injuries. Vin struggled to control his emotions, lowering his voice as he moved closer to Chris.

" I know how it is. It's like...like that problem o' mine. At least I can cover it up, but you...hell, you can't even talk without everyone knowin' somethin's wrong. I know it's your pride that's hurtin' because I know how it is to feel embarrassed and stupid. But a man I looked up to got me to join a team that made a difference to me. Chris, if you let them do this to you, you'll lose much more'n your pride. I'm beggin' ya not to do this."

Chris looked at him and at Ezra for a long moment, then sighed. He nodded to Ezra.

Ezra stared levelly at Hart, his voice calm as he tore the papers into small pieces. "I apologize, Chris, for ever introducing you to this charlatan. He came well-recommended. Clearly I was deceived."

"Now look here–" began Hart.

"Your services will no longer be required, Mr. Hart."

"But–!"

"You heard the man. You're fired. Now get out!" Vin grabbed the man roughly by his jacket and propelled the lawyer out of the room and into the hall. He grabbed the lawyer's brief case and tossed it into the hall after him. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Chris and Ezra. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't know what we're gonna do now."

"Well, I do," replied Ezra. "We're going to stick together."

* * *

Vin sat out in back, his legs stretched out. He chewed a blade of grass thoughtfully as his eyes followed the gentle slope of the hill toward the barn. From where he sat, he could hear Nemesis in the barn. Had to be. Damn animal.

Chris was now home in his room, asleep. The meds never failed to knock him out, and Chris hated that.

Vin cupped the grass between his palms and blew, making it whistle on the breeze.

Everything had changed. Chris's accident had left one person dead and Chris severely injured. It could still cost him his career. It could cost him his freedom.

Vin reached into his pocket for his harmonica, blowing softly into it, trying to match the notes to the sounds of the world around him, the wind and the birds.

Buck had told them they all needed to get Chris talking more. Easier to raise the Titanic and row it to shore.

He closed his eyes. The fight they'd had still felt like strands of piano wire, tightening around his heart. If there was any good to have come from the accident, and it'd take some huntin' to find, then it was that Chris didn't remember that part.

Vin hoped he never did.

He squinted at the sun. Time to wake Chris and see that he ate. Should he tell him the new lawyer called during dinner? Or tell him after he'd eaten? No, best not to spoil his meal with his trial date.

Vin walked slowly inside.

* * *

"Two m-m-months," Chris said flatly, his eyes staring at his half-empty plate. He wasn't hungry, but at least Vin had waited till he'd eaten all he was going to.

Vin nodded. "Yeah, well, the wheels of justice turn slow. I told the others already."

Chris looked at him.

"They needed to know, Chris. They'd have wanted to know."

Vin picked up the dishes and took them to the sink.

Chris shook his head. "Not ready," he said softly.

Vin brought him a glass of water and a handful of pills. "Chris, listen to me. We're all with ya, no matter what happens. You know that."

Chris nodded.

"I'm goin' home for a new change of clothes and check on the place. Buck's comin' over t' spell me. You gonna be okay?"

Chris nodded grimly.

As okay as he could be, under the circumstances.

* * *

"F-f-full h-house."

Buck stared at the cards, open-mouthed. "That could _not_–Well, I'll be."

Chris grinned at him, using his good hand to pull the small pile of chips to him.

"You're drainin' my Booty Bank."

Chris arched an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that. Listen, Pard, if your pal here has to spend the weekend watching 'Blind Date' instead of having one, he's gonna be miserable company come Monday."

Chris laughed and Buck felt his own spirits lift to hear it.

"Say, Chris, whatever happened to that blind date of yours last summer? The one at the beach. What was her name? Kim? You never told me about that."

Chris looked at him, a smoldering annoyance in his eyes. He knew what Buck was trying to do and he clearly resented it.

"Chris, you have to." Chris started to head for the bedroom when Buck blocked his path. "You try to run me over with that thing, pard, and I'll tie you to a chair." Chris glared at him, but Buck ignored it. "Your doctor says you have to talk whether you want to or not, and you know it. Now if the doc says you gotta talk, then that's what you'll do." He knelt in front of Chris, who now refused to look at him. "We care, Chris, and there's nothin' you can do about that but accept it."

"D-don't'."

"Sorry, Pard, but it's the truth. Now you got a court date in two months. What do you say we spend a little time swappin' stories tonight? You first."

Then he waited. A long silence stretched between them.

At last, reluctantly, Chris looked into his eyes. Finally he nodded.

* * *

It was morning when Vin returned. He turned the front door knob, stepped into the living room, and froze.

Buck was stretched on the sofa, asleep. Chris was asleep in his chair. Around them lay empty bottles and cigarette butts.

"What the hell..!" Vin shouted. "Wilmington, what in HELL do you think you're doing?"

Buck startled awake and squinted up at him. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Is this your idea of takin' care o' him? Ain't you got an ounce o' sense or have you really fucked your brains out?"

"Now just hold on–!"

"What're you thinkin', givin' 'im this?" He picked up an empty bottle and held it out. You know he's not supposed to have stuff like this!"

"If you'd gimme a chance, Tanner–"

"And why isn't he sleepin' in his bed? Can't you do one damn thing–"

"NOW JUST A COTTON-PICKIN' MINUTE!" Buck shouted, his face turning red, mustache twitching with anger. He took a step toward Vin. "FIRST off, that bottle yer holdin' happens to be mine! Second of all–" He picked up another bottle. "–Chris was drinkin' THIS!"

Vin looked at the label. O'Doul's. Alcohol-free beer.

Vin would not be calmed. "Why's he sleepin' in his chair?"

"Stop," a voice said quietly.

Both men turned to look at Chris.

Chris took a deep breath and spoke, soft and slow. "It's not...his fault. I...bored him...I think...talking about...women."

Vin stared. The words had come out slowly, but they were distinct, and each word was correct. He turned to Buck. "He...um...He told you stories, did he?"

Buck nodded. At first, they were halting and hard to understand, with Chris stammering and sometimes choosing the wrong word altogether. But they'd kept at it till the pink rays of dawn peeked through the blinds.

Vin swallowed, trying to find his voice. "Still...you oughta sleep in your bed. Why don't you go get outta them clothes and catch a little more sleep. It's still pretty early. Later I'll make breakfast for all of us." He looked at Buck again. "It's the least I can do."

* * *

Team 7 was assembled at Chris's for an impromptu indoor barbeque and a few friendly games of darts and pool. The mood of everyone was now riding high for the first time in several weeks. Just the idea that Chris was improving had caused morale to surge. His speech was the most notable improvement. But the team had also noted that he had far fewer seizures and he was still regaining mobility. He'd been able to get in and out of his wheelchair by himself for a couple of weeks now.

"Five in the corner," said Buck, pointing with his cue stick.

"No way," smiled JD.

"A sawbuck says he makes it," Ezra said as he refilled his beer.

"A what?"

"Ten dollars, JD," said Josiah.

"You're on."

Nathan grinned from the big armchair in the corner. "I'll take a piece o' that. Chris? You in?"

Chris shook his head. It felt good to see everyone happy, and he knew it was because of his own progress. But nothing was sorted out at all yet and for right now, he didn't want to spoil the mood.

He didn't have to. Vin entered the room, frowning.

Chris looked at him questioningly. As if on instinct, all conversation ceased and everyone turned to look at Vin.

"Just got off the phone with Chris's lawyer. He wants to take depositions from all of us. He says...He says it doesn't look good."

The mood shattered into irreparable pieces.

Chris quietly left the room.

Vin looked at the others, then followed him. He watched as Chris maneuvered himself out of the wheelchair and onto the bed. Using his good arm, he leveraged his body until he was on his back with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Talk to me, Chris," Vin prodded gently.

"Don't...want...to."

"Chris, the doc said if you wanna get better, you have to practice. Now try. Can you remember anything about the crash yet? Do you remember the other car? It was blue. Do you remember the blue car?"

Vin's voice was edgy. He hated to get impatient or frustrated with him, but so much was riding on whether he could remember anything at all. Forcing himself to take it slow for Chris's sake, he spoke in a soft, carefully-controlled voice.

"You had just left my place. You were in the Ram. You were driving down the road. Can you remember that? Chris, you gotta remember. Try. Did you go anywhere else besides home?"

Chris shook his head. Vin's patience finally gave out.

"You've GOT to remember! Don't you realize what they'll do to you? Now, TRY!"

Chris only frowned.

Vin sighed again. He hated to bring this up because it was something he had wanted both of them to forget, but now every detail counted. "Chris," he said softly. "We argued. I said...I said...I said 'Fuck you' and you left. You were angry. Do you remember that? You were driving and–"

"T-t-two!" Chris said suddenly.

"'Too' what? Too dark? Too fast? 'Too' what?"

"N-no." Chris held up two fingers. "T-t-TWO!"

Vin looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

"Two cars?"

Chris shook his head emphatically. His panicked eyes scanned the bedroom ceiling, as if searching it for the right word. In angry frustration, his eyes squeezed shut and he began hitting the back of his head against the pillow, struggling to find a word that was very important him.

Vin tried to desperately to calm him. "Chris! Stop! You're going to bring on a seizure if you don't calm down!"

As if on cue, the telltale signs began to take over Chris's body. Immediately Vin retrieved his medication, administering it and watching Chris anxiously. Within minutes, the thrashings subsided. His body relaxed and his eyes drooped sleepily. Whatever it was he was trying to say, it was going to have to wait until he woke up.

* * *

Vin didn't realize he'd fallen asleep on the couch until he started awake to the sound of the door opening. He stood up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and blinked at the newcomer.

"Josiah. Chris is asleep. At least I think he's still asleep. He was when I–" Vin sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"What you need to do is get out of here for awhile. Go home, go to your apartment. Take a nap, take a shower, change your clothes. I'll be here whenever you get back. And most importantly–take your time."

Vin managed a shaky smile of gratitude, shrugged into his jacket, and with a brief "Thanks," reluctantly walked out the door. Moments later, Josiah could hear the motorcycle's engine revving and then grow steadily fainter.

Josiah went in to check on Chris. He found him awake and looking agitated.

"Two p-p-people!" he cried out to Josiah.

"Two people? What about two people?"

"Where's Vin?" Chris demanded.

Josiah stared at him for a moment. He pulled his cell phone from its belt clip and quickly dialed.

"Vin? It's Chris. No, he's fine. But he's sayin' somethin' about two people?" He frowned, listening, and then turned to Chris. "Are you saying there were _two_ people in the other car?"

Chris nodded. Josiah frowned thoughtfully and spoke into the phone again.

"There was nothing in any reports about another passenger...or _driver_? Right. Later."

He pressed a button on the phone and dialed again. After a short call to Travis, he turned to Chris. "The vehicle is still in impound. Orrin's ordering it dusted for prints and having the autopsy records reviewed." His voice was deadly serious. "We gotta find that other person."

Vin slipped his cell phone back into its clip. He set his mouth into a tight line and abruptly, skillfully U-turned, heading in the direction of the ATF offices.

Once there, he stepped off the elevator and strode down the corridor. He knocked once on an office door and thrust it open.

Carter was grinning, the phone held to his ear. He hadn't yet noticed Vin's entrance.

"Yeah, baby?" he said provocatively into the phone. "Wear the black lace. No, not the red. The black...No...I want you to..."

Vin grabbed the phone and held it to his ear. "Wear the red, baby," he said before slamming down the phone.

"What the hell do YOU want, Tanner?"

Vin stood directly in front of him. "Larabee's accident. There was someone else. Someone in the other car."

Carter snorted. "You guys'll come up with anything to protect Larabee. Why don't you give it a chance? You might even _like_ your new team leader."

Vin put a hand on each of the chair arms and leaned forward until he was nose-to-nose with Carter.

"Travis is gonna call. He's gonna tell you to dust that car again for-" He stopped and straightened suddenly. "Or maybe you already know?" He grabbed Carter's shirt, nearly lifting him out of his chair.

"Yes! All right!" Carter shouted.

Vin released him and he fell back. Carter straightened his tie, glaring at him. There's another set of prints all over the front of the car."

"Why didn't you run them?"

"Why should we? Larabee was there. We know what happened."

"You didn't follow up every lead. An innocent man was going to lose his career, his freedom, maybe everything." Vin started to go.

"We don't _know_ that Larabee's innocent. Did Larabee tell you about his little problem with painkillers after the SEALs?" When there was no reply, Carter added, "Thought not."

Vin stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Carter. It was all he could do to keep from using his fist to wipe that smug smile off Carter's face.

"Well, we know this, Carter. With investigatin' skills like yours, you'd never be half the team leader Chris Larabee is."

Vin slammed the door behind him. He waited till the elevator doors closed before slumping against the wall.

"God, Chris..." he muttered sadly. "Why's it all gotta be so damned _complicated_?"

* * *

Vin was waiting for Chris when Buck returned with him from physical therapy.

"He's doin' real good," Buck grinned. "His arm and leg are still weak, but he moved 'em more today than he has since the accident."

Vin forced a smile. "That's great."

The exhausted-looking team leader started toward the bedroom. "Tired," he said simply.

Vin followed him into the bedroom and helped him undress. At last he could hold it in no longer; he had to know. "Chris? Why didn't you tell me about the painkillers?"

Chris frowned, uncomprehending.

"When you got out of the SEALs?"

A dark cloud of anger passed over Chris's face. "Not...your...b-b-business."

"Carter _knows_! Do you hear me? He knows, Chris, and it's gonna be everybody's business at trial."

"NO!" Chris refused to say another word. Instead, he stretched out on the bed and rolled onto his side, his back to Vin to indicate the subject was closed.

At that moment Buck entered the room. Sensing the tension, he looked from one to another.

Vin turned to him. "Did _you_ know about Chris's addiction to painkillers?"

Silence permeated the emotion-charged air.

"Yes, I did," Buck said quietly. "If that's all you wanted to know, you got your answer. Now leave him alone and let him sleep. The man's tired, if you hadn't noticed." He waved to Vin, indicating he should follow him out of the room.

Vin followed him to the living room before exploding in frustration. "Son of a bitch!" He began to pace. "Do you know what this means? Carter is just _looking_ for a reason-Do you have any idea what a prior history of addiction or substance abuse is going to do to him in court?"

"You don't have to tell me. I've testified in more cases than you have. Predisposed to addiction, could've been drunk driving, blah, blah, blah." Buck caught Vin's arm to stop his frantic pacing. "'Cept it wasn't like _that_."

"No?" Vin sat down abruptly on the couch. "Then suppose you tell me how it was. I'm listenin'."

Buck walked into the kitchen and quickly returned with a couple of beers. He handed one to Vin before sitting in the chair nearest the couch.

"You know Chris was in the SEALs."

"Yeah."

"It was his last mission. He was just a few weeks from getting his discharge. Planned to marry Sarah as soon as he was out." Buck shook his head. "Things went wrong, he got shipped home on a stretcher."

"How bad?"

"Lotsa surgeries. Had some back problems, knee problems. Oh, he healed completely but it took a damned long time."

"That's when he got the painkillers?"

Buck nodded. "The VA docs messed up his prescriptions. Gave him higher doses than he needed. It was a busy hospital. Understaffed. No one was able to monitor him properly."

"And that's when he got addicted?"

Buck stared into space, seeing old demons and past horrors. He took a long swallow of his beer to drown the residual pain.

"You were with him then, weren't you," Vin prodded gently.

Buck nodded. "I can still hear him screaming in terror from the hallucinations. I don't think that sound'll ever leave me. It's a sound...I dunno...it's like raw terror...Cuts right through your soul." His voice was soft now and Vin just let him continue. "I remember forcing him to eat to keep 'im alive, and then holding his head when he vomited it all back up. Long nights of holding him when he'd get the shakes so bad I was afraid he'd hurt himself."

Buck looked at Vin, his eyes moist.

"How did he beat it?"

Buck shrugged. "He got help. He got off them. End of story."

Vin eyed him. It wasn't all of the story. "You had something to do with that, didn't you?"

"Vin, I-" Buck sighed wearily. Finally, he nodded. "I tricked him. Got him committed to a hospital. He hated me for that at first. They dragged him off cussin' an' screamin'." Buck's eyes hardened. "I'd do it all over again if I had to. I'd do anything to save him." His voice broke, full of emotions old and new. "I wish I could save him now."

The two men fell into a comforting silence. They knew detectives were following new leads, but for them, there was nothing left to do but wait for the phone call that might never come.

* * *

Two more days had passed and everyone was feeling edgy as Chris's trial date creeped ever nearer and, although he didn't say it, even Chris's lawyer seemed doubtful. The case against Chris was largely circumstantial, but the entire team knew that others had been convicted on far less.

Like he did every day, JD had come to tend Chris's horses. He liked having something that took his mind off of everything, if only for a little while. He had just finished feeding and grooming the horses when his cell vibrated noisily.

"JD?"

"Buck? Where are you?"

"Can you take Chris to his speech therapist's today? It's his last appointment."

"Why can't you?" A grin spread slowly across his face. "Your date took your car, didn't she."

"I'm sure she's only borrowed it."

"You mean you _hope_ she only borrowed it. Did you get this one's last name this time?"

"'Course I did! What kinda man do you think I am? DON'T answer that! Look, just do it, will you?"

"Not a problem. Just remember you owe me a favor next time I bring Casey home."

"I swear, kid, I thought that was you in the shower."

"Good-bye, Buck."

JD snapped the phone closed and headed to the house to get Chris ready to go.

* * *

When he got inside, Chris was already on the phone. He glanced at JD and set the phone into its cradle, pressing the speakerphone button.

"Chris? You still there?"

"JD, too."

"Oh, hi, JD. Just givin' Chris some good news. The autopsy review was just completed an hour ago and I think you might find the results interesting. The driver was dead _before_ impact. So–"

"So I didn't k-kill him."

"Her. It was a her. And there's a second set of prints in the car belonging to her live-in boyfriend. Police are still looking for him. He's got a long list of priors. Petty crimes, mostly."

"Good w-work, Nathan."

"Don't thank me. Travis believes in you, Chris. He's not giving up without a fight."

"Neither are we," JD added.

* * *

Buoyed by the good news, JD whistled happily as he helped Chris maneuver himself into the passenger seat. He checked the straps of the chair one last time from where it was secured in the back. Closing the rear door, he came around to the driver side. Maybe after this last speech therapy session, he could persuade Chris to celebrate by going out for dinner.

The world suddenly shattered in a shower of stars and bright light. Pain echoed in his skull and then the blinding lights went out.

* * *

Chris turned to see JD slump to the ground. He began to struggle with his seatbelt as a man in a dark Bulls jacket, sweatpants and gloves climbed behind the wheel. Chris stopped struggling when a gun was pressed hard against his cheek.

"Don't move, Mr. Larabee" the man said coldly.

Chris squinted at the man. He was stocky, most likely in his 20s, and Chris was almost certain he'd never seen him before.

"I...d-don't...know you...Do I?"

"Sure you do. You killed my girlfriend."

Chris didn't like the way the man smiled when he said that.

"You were...the other..."

"Yeah." The man leaned back to get a better look at Chris. "Boy, you really got messed up in that crash." He turned the key to start the engine. "I've been watchin' this place for days. I hear the cops wanna question me. You're gonna help me out." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a rumpled envelope. "See this? I wrote you a suicide note."

Chris stared. The gun was still leveled at him.

"Yeah, poor Chris Larabee. Overcome by grief and guilt, he knocks out his driver and deliberately smashes up his car to avoid going to jail. Pretty tragic, huh?"

The leader of Team 7 shook his head. "W-won't work."

"Worked before." The man opened the window an inch and slid the envelope out to have it land near the unconscious JD. Slowly, he backed the vehicle out of the driveway. Chris looked back to see JD lying prone on the ground, motionless.

The van began to wind down the long, remote road. It was slowly, steadily increasing speed.

"Before?"

The man gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. "That bitch was sleepin' with my best friend. It ain't easy to drive from the passenger side, I can tell you." He smiled cruelly. "Well, you'll see."

"We gotta find a good place to put you in the driver's seat," the man was saying. "Maybe I'll get lucky again and-what was that? a Ram?-will come along. Or better still, maybe I can find a busload of kids. I was gonna drive her car into a tree, but then there you were..."

He looked at Chris and grinned. "It was sweet."

The van pulled off the road onto a hidden drive and stopped. "Close to the road...No one can see us...C'mon, Larabee." He got out and started around the vehicle.

Summoning all his limited strength, Chris used his weakened right side and pushed his body toward the driver's seat. He yanked the gear lever into reverse and tried to reach the gas with his leg. His door was being opened just as he dove headfirst under the dashboard and shoved down the accelerator as hard as he could.

The van jolted backward across the road. The side door caught Chris's attacker, dragging him with the van as it lurched off the road and down a long, steep embankment. The momentum sent it careening through a fence and into the river below.

* * *

The first thing JD was aware of was that the light was unusually bright. He squinted and groaned as steel triphammers pounded against his brain. Slowly he staggered to his feet and looked around.

Chris. The van. Both were gone.

Where had he gone? Or more to the point, who had taken him and why?

He spotted the envelope on the ground and opened it, his eyes skimming its contents.

"Holy shit," he whispered. JD glanced at his watch. There wasn't time to wait for the others. Whoever had kidnapped Chris couldn't have got far.

He fumbled for his motorcycle keys, pausing until the dizziness and nausea became manageable. He started the motorcycle's engine, then put his cell phone earpiece into his ear with one hand while hitting speed dial with the other.

"C'mon...C'mon...Answer..." he muttered impatiently.

"Howdy, Ladies. Ol' Buck isn't takin' any interruptions just now, but if you record your sultry voice on the ol' voice mail..."

JD cursed and savagely pressed the keypad again.

Chris slowly, weakly fought off the air bag in his face. The impact into the water had shut the side door and cold water seeped in through the slightly open driver's side window. He had tried kicking it but only one leg had strength enough while the other side of his body was still too weak to provide any leverage.

If he waited long enough, the pressure around the van would equalize and he would be able to open the door. His body began to grow numb from the cold water. He wondered how long the air pocket would last.

* * *

JD yanked on the brake levers, nearly causing the motorcycle to skid off the road. Tire tracks crossed the road into the broken brush. He peered down and his heart leaped into his throat, momentarily stopping his breathing.

The van was disappearing into the water below.

"Chris!" he gasped.

JD scrambled down the embankment, ignoring the underbrush that cut his skin and tore at his clothes.

At the edge, he hesitated a moment, his heart pounding against his ribs. A figure was struggling in the water. JD hastily pulled off his jacket and shoes and dove headlong into the freezing river.

* * *

Chris tipped his head back, trying to get at whatever air he could. The vehicle's heavy weight, with the added weight of the wheelchair in back, was rapidly dragging it down. He began to choke and cough as each breath drew in some of the brackish water.

It was time to try the door. He managed to get it open but something held him back. He took a deep breath and looked back through the murky water but couldn't see the source of the problem. Fumbling with his hands, he guessed the seat belt was entwined around his ankle. Now even his good arm and hand were too cold and stiff from the water.

The possibility of dying was now very real and Chris's thoughts were filled with images of his family. And his team. He would be glad to see his family again, but he knew he'd miss his team very much. He could think of few regrets except perhaps the thought that his team might believe he'd committed suicide.

* * *

JD reached the struggling figure in the water. His heart constricted as he realized it wasn't Chris. But he had a damn good idea who it was. Chris's kidnapper.

"H-Help me! I-I can't swim! PLEASE!"

JD reached out a hand and grabbed the waterlogged jacket, pulling the man towards him. "Where's Chris Larabee," he shouted.

"Help me!"

"WHERE?!"

"Help me first!"

JD growled angrily and dragged the man toward shore. He wiped the water from his eyes and looked up in time to see a patrol car, its lights flashing, park at the edge of the road. Just beyond, Nathan and Josiah were making their way towards him.

He reached down and grabbed the man again, shaking him furiously.

"What did you do with Chris, you asshole!?"

The man began to laugh, but ended up choking up water.

"Go fish," he spat.

JD turned to look at where the van had been, his eyes wide. Ignoring the cold and fatigue, he struck out with renewed vigor, his mind holding one thought: get Chris.

He paused over the spot where the van had gone down and turned back to shore. "Cuff 'im!" he shouted to Josiah, then broke the surface.

The water was dark and murky. He could just see the dark shape of the van below. Kicking hard, he swam down to it and peered through the window. Nothing could've prepared him for the sight of Chris floating limply inside.

JD got the door open and tried to pull Chris out, but couldn't. Reluctantly he surfaced to take in another gulp of air, then swam down to the other side of the van. Opening the door, he groped for Chris's ankle, then unwrapped the tangled seat belt.

A moment later, he broke the surface with one arm wrapped around Chris.

"Help!" he shouted as he swam toward the others. Nathan and Josiah waded into the water to grab Chris, while Buck and Vin wrapped JD in a blanket and helped him onto the riverbank. He was shivering uncontrollably as Nathan and Josiah start administering CPR to Chris. Dizziness suddenly overwhelmed him, followed closely by a pounding headache and his knees buckled. He felt himself lowered to the ground.

"Just lay down, son," Buck soothed.

JD shrugged him off. He had to make sure Chris was going to be all right.

"One...two...three...four...Breathe!"

It was taking forever.

Ezra arrived just behind the paramedics and quickly joined the anxious huddle of his friends. The police were just leaving with their suspect. Nathan and Josiah moved out of the way as the paramedics went to work on Chris. The two ATF agents collapsed beside JD, exhausted. All eyes were now turned anxiously to the paramedics working on Chris.

"C'mon, c'mon," Vin muttered under his breath. His knuckles were white as he clasped his hands tightly together to stop them from shaking. He felt Josiah's arm around him, but it offered little comfort.

"C'mon, Stud, breathe for ol' Buck..." The ladies man ignored the moisture that welled in his eyes, his attention completely focused on their team leader.

At last Chris's body lurched and he coughed up a mouthful of water. He struggled feebly against the hands holding him, then relaxed as the reassuring voices and quick hands worked to comfort and stabilize him.

Six sighs of relief breathed as one. They watched as Chris was carried up the embankment in a fireman basket and then followed as he was moved onto a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance.

"He's gonna be alright," Buck said softly. He turned to JD. "I just know it."

But JD was past hearing. Now that his adrenaline had returned to normal, his head injury took over and his knees buckled in a faint. Buck caught him before he hit the ground and he and Ezra quickly carried their youngest team member to the ambulance.

* * *

Buck slumped in a waiting room chair at St. Sebastian's, wondering idly why the entire team didn't just rent them. Put a plaque over each with their names. 'Reserved for...'

He felt a nudge at his shoulder and looked at the paper cup of steaming coffee in Nathan's hand. He groaned.

"Not that swill again."

Anne's voice interrupted them. "It may look like muddy water, but it's pure iodine. Winnie's on a break. She said she was going to bring some coffee back for you."

"Ah, she's good to me," Buck smiled.

Anne wagged a finger knowingly at him. "And don't you forget it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ohh, coffee!" JD suddenly appeared. He held a piece of paper in one hand, and took the the cup from Nathan with the other.

Buck snorted disgustedly but relief flooded his eyes. JD had a small bandage on his forehead but didn't look too much worse for wear. He snatched the folded piece of paper from JD's hand.

"What's this? Annie give you 'er phone number?" He glanced up at her. "Just joshin'...You know me."

"Yes, I do. Those are procedures." She nodded at JD. "You wake him up every hour and see to it that he's coherent. The instructions are all right there, along with the doctor's emergency number."

JD sipped the coffee and made a face. "How's Chris?"

"Would you like me to find out for you?" Anne turned and quickly left the room.

Hearing this, the others moved closer to Buck to await word. It seemed like hours to them, but Anne was back in less than ten minutes.

"He's alert and stable. He's still on oxygen and he's been given some antibiotics for the river water he swallowed."

Ezra asked the question that was on everyone's minds. "Is this going to affect his recovery?"

"The doctor doesn't think so, but he's going to keep Chris here for a few days. A week at most."

"Can we see him?"

"Why don't you let him rest and you can see him tomorrow?" Anne looked at the circle of tired eyes sunken into anxious, haggard faces. "Right now, it looks like all of you could use some rest, too."

"We'll be here," said Vin. "Tomorrow."

She smiled. "I know you will."

* * *

It was the whispering that seeped into his consciousness.

"I only went out with Winnie as friends."

"Sure, Buck, sure."

"Y'know kid, you-"

"Quiet, gentlemen. It looks like he's waking up."

"Wha-what," Chris began, in a weak, raspy voice.

"Hey, pard." Buck moved closer. "You went joyriding in the river. JD fished you out."

Chris squinted at them in confusion. "A-a van..."

"That's right," said Vin. "But the doc says yer gonna be fine."

Chris struggled to sit up. "Two-"

Vin quickly put his hands on Chris's shoulders to stop him. "I know, Chris. Travis knows and the police know. They got a full confession out of yer pal in the van."

"JD fished him out, too," added Josiah.

Chris looked at him and suddenly yawned. "Ya done good," he said softly before drifting back to sleep.

* * *

**Two months later**

Vin wheeled Chris into the house.

"Congratulations, Chris!"

Chris grinned with pleased surprise as his team greeted him. They had waited eagerly for him to return from a string of appointments, first with his lawyer and then with Travis. It had been several weeks of anxiety for Team 7, what with continuances and motions and all kinds of legal wranglings, not mention his continued physical therapy. Vin had phoned Buck with the news and everyone had hastily gathered together for a celebration.

"How'd it go?" asked Ezra as he cut the cake.

Chris wheeled himself into the room. "Good. It went good."

"Is that all you can say?" Buck exclaimed.

Vin grinned. "Carter's been suspended, pending an audit of his department."

"Hope he likes unemployment," muttered the ladies man.

Chris accepted a bottle of beer from Nathan, and then scowled. O'Doul's. "I can have the real stuff now," he said irritably.

Nathan shook his head. "Not on _my_ watch, you can't." He grinned. "Not yet, anyway."

Vin quickly took a swig of his own beer before continuing. "We motioned to dismiss, and the judge agreed."

"You mean the case was thrown out?" JD said, as he dug into a particularly large slice of cake.

Josiah accepted a plate of cake from Ezra. "What about the guy who tried to kill you?"

Chris frowned. "I don't know."

"Say, what _was_ in that confession?" Nathan asked suddenly.

Josiah arched an eyebrow. "Didn't you hear?"

"I can shed some light on that," said Ezra, licking frosting from his thumb. "His name's Aaron Robbins. He had an altercation with his girlfriend over her fidelities and strangled her. He put her in the car and then planned to make it look like she'd had a fatal accident. Unfortunately for Chris, he ran into the Ram instead with the driver's side sustaining most of the damage."

"It was just lucky Chris remembered a second person in the car," said JD.

Nathan turned just in time to see JD get his beer bottle back from Chris. He glared at the two of them, but each tried to look innocent rather than contrite.

"Very lucky," Nathan echoed, still eyeing them both suspiciously.

"Just a vague image of someone running away," Chris said. "Vin helped me to remember."

Vin shook his head, his voice bitter. "You'd have remembered sooner if I had just told you everything in the first place. I just didn't want you to remember that I'd...said some things."

Everyone fell silent.

"It's okay, Vin. Let's just leave it as something forgotten." Chris scanned their faces.

"Well, I for one, would like to propose a toast."

Everyone watched as Chris slowly stood up on shaky legs.

He looked at the smiling, surprised faces and raised his drink, then faltered. "I don't know what to say now," he said lamely.

"How about 'to friendship'?" JD suggested.

"That don't say nothin'," scoffed Buck. "Needs somethin' flowery."

"No, I think that says it all," Chris said thoughtfully. He smiled at Vin and raised his drink again.

"To friendship."

Six voices joyfully echoed the sentiment.

THE END


End file.
